


Acquiescence

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kissing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 14:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11186682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: Deadlock onlines sluggishly, not having been aware he’d fallen asleep and also unaware of where he currently is. But then he remembers—he’d fallen asleep in Megatron’s lap during one of their lessons.





	Acquiescence

**Author's Note:**

> [Joke about me writing three fics in a row with Drift in them]  
> [Joke about how this is the most pure thing I've written in a year and it's about two terrible murder-robots?]
> 
> Okay I'm breaking out of the brackets to say I'm sorry if I got Megatron in this timeline wrong-ish? I gotta confess at this point I've only watched a few cartoons where he's like, evil for no reason and read MTMTE so I'm not totally sure how writing him would differ from current Megs. I was inspired by [Zig/prowlish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrie_fe/pseuds/prowlish) talking about their thing with Megatron teaching Drift to read, but likeee it serves as a super feeble context for snuggling, so maybe don't worry too much if it seems underdeveloped. Cuz it is!
> 
> Anyway enjoy, maybe, or don't. I'm not your real dad.

Deadlock onlines sluggishly, not having been aware he’d fallen asleep and also unaware of where he currently is. The strange, curved contortion of his body implies he’s not in his own berth, which is cause for alarm. He makes no move until he figures it out, making sure it’s safe before he might give an enemy any indication of consciousness. Feigning stasis could give him a tactical advantage before he rips their throats out.

Throat-ripping would be ill-advised in present company, given that the only available throat other than Deadlock’s own is Megatron’s. He’d fallen asleep in Megatron’s spacious lap during one of their lessons and is now acutely aware of Megatron’s hand idly tracing his finials while the other holds a data pad. Because, of course, he is still reading.

Deadlock makes no move to indicate he’s regained consciousness. He keeps still against the expansive pillow of Megatron’s thigh and shuts his optics off again, unbeknownst to Megatron, he’s sure. If he’s been allowed to stay here for this long, then Megatron mustn’t be in a hurry to be rid of him. This is, of course, not the first time they’ve shared a berth, though usually it’s for less innocuous reasons than this. Much less innocuous.

Instead, the leader of the Decepticons continues to trace his fingers along the underside of Deadlock’s finials all the way to the tip, then back down, running down along the back of his helm. They slip a little lower down towards the upper seam of his spinal strut, at the base of his neck, and Deadlock’s field flares reflexively, a sharp, biting hum of warning energy that he honestly hadn’t intended to send out. He dulls the unbidden outburst of energy as quickly as he can.

Megatron’s fingers hardly even stutter in shock, but do draw back to maintain only the smallest brush of contact, and Deadlock can feel his spark setting a tense pulse in its casing. He still doesn’t move, somewhat hoping Megatron will assume his reflexes are so tuned to trigger this response even whilst he is asleep. To his credit, he thinks they are, but no one has ever managed to get that close to him in stasis before, so he hasn’t been able to test it. He considers it slightly ironic that he’d felt comfortable enough in Megatron’s presence to fall asleep, but it’s not as if their relationship is the same as Megatron’s is with any other of his soldiers.

After an agonizing moment, Megatron’s hand fully retracts from his neck and comes to rest on the berth beside his thigh. “So you are awake,” he says softly, though still with that rich deep tone that with a single small adjustment could make any bot’s spark quake. There’s a gentle click as Megatron sets his datapad down on the berth and regards the soldier resting against his leg.

Deadlock onlines his optics a bit sulkily, regretting the lack of petting, and opts to push for his own innocence. “And?” he prompts, instantly regretting it. Perhaps it’s this impromptu stasis nap that’s made him somewhat pugnacious, but then again, his involuntary reaction might have been excused. Disrespecting the most superior of superior officers may not. He keeps still, again hoping to play off of grogginess as an excuse, despite excuses having no place in the Decepticon army.

He flinches when Megatron grabs his shoulder, though the movement isn’t rough or crushing. He merely turns Deadlock onto his back and curls a finger under his chin, guiding his gaze to meet his own. The dim light in the room from above is casting a strange red glow on him, making the dangerousness that simmers beneath him seem to grow tangible in the air that surrounds him. “Deadlock,” he says, still keeping his voice low and even. “I assume I needn’t warn you that while you are subject to certain _privileges_ , you mustn’t get in the habit of speaking to me without respect. You are not above being disciplined.”

The underlying implication here is that Megatron cannot obviously play favorites. Still, Deadlock hardly registers this thought as he has to fight the urge to request a description of the nature of the discipline, which might be his typical response were he not so eager to stay in Megatron’s good graces. Instead, he nods and says, “Yes, Lord Megatron.” He carefully gets up to kneel some distance away Megatron, feeling the noticeable loss of strong, solid warmth against his plating.

Megatron fixes him with a long, unreadable stare. “That being said, you know I am fond of you and your company. So long as you keep yourself in check, you needn’t be afraid of me.” He reaches out to stroke alongside Deadlock’s shoulder where he had gripped before, where Deadlock had flinched. He makes himself hold steady this time. The touch feels pleasantly alive and electric this time, Megatron’s field tuned intentionally to give such a welcoming sensation. Deadlock leans into it, following when Megatron draws him back close to his body again and scrambling into his lap again as he knows he’s meant to.

He let’s Megatron’s hands guide him where he wants him to be, feeling a familiar rush of pleasure at the appreciative strokes they give his frame. It’s hard to deny the drug of being wanted. He stays on his knees to be pulled up against Megatron’s chest, leaning his helm down to touch against the larger mech’s so he can close his eyes and hide a smile. There is an element of triumph to it, since he’s been chosen to be here over any other Decepticon, any other bot, at least for tonight. But there’s something else too, that he wouldn’t quite admit—he’s been chosen to be here over any other Decepticon, any other bot.

The smile is kissed from his lips insistently, demanding compliance. Deadlock relinquishes it slowly, demanding in return to be conquered where he knows he can get away with some rebellion, playfully sinking his fangs into Megatron’s lips until his own are bitten and pressed down with a blunter, more powerful force. The exchange is both long and short, passionate and chaste, but it is what it needs to be and it ends when it is required with Megatron chasing small, slow kisses up his jaw guards. Deadlock relaxes down against his chest and settles into his arms.

Megatron doesn’t reach for his data pad again, but keeps himself curled around the smaller mech. There’s a long moment of silence where Deadlock just listens to the steady, resting thrum of his engine. He’s only just woken up, but the cycles indicate they’d both be suited to a full recharge soon, and he now has to fight that urge too. His whole frame is warm and comfortable, curled up in what is possibly the safest space in the universe. He can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be, or any place that’s ever been better.

“Deadlock, will you stay here tonight?” The question is in no way a vulnerable request, but a means to politely offer him an out if he didn’t wish to.

He can’t imagine any timeline where he would deny the chance. “Yes, Lord Megatron,” he murmurs against the smooth polished purple of the badge on Megatron’s chest. “Of course.”


End file.
